Escaping Mr Right

by Avril Tremayne

  ‘Well, yeah,’ he said, and shrugged. And … blushed.

  And it was like a light turned on inside me. One moment, I was standing there, relatively normal, surprised that Nick did anything as mundane as watch nature documentaries.

  The next moment, I was in love with him.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  It wasn’t supposed to happen like that, was it?

  When your hair was wet and ratty, your face bare of make-up except for a few leftover mascara smudges, when you were wrapped in a hotel towel, talking about hyenas, which (apologies to hyena-admirers) have to be the ugliest animals on earth.

  Yet there it was. It had happened. I was in love. Nothing else mattered. Not the way I looked. Not the fact that we were in a bathroom, minus the rose petals, candles and champagne. Not Marcus – what I’d had with him, or what he’d think of what I had now. All that mattered was Nick. The sure, deep knowledge of him that was winding itself into my heart. The way he looked at me, and breathed me in, and held me like he’d never let go. The orphanage. How he braced for me, and took whatever I did to him. The rugby boys. The things he whispered to me when he was inside me. Waking up with his fingers in their favourite spot. Even the fact he’d thrown a used condom in his shoe rather than get out of my bed. This was love – and everything I’d ever felt before was nothing.

  ‘What?’ he asked, all defensive and utterly adorable – which I took to mean I’d been standing there, probably looking like a stunned, love-struck idiot, for quite some time.

  I raised one eyebrow and gave him a half-smile. Dare you. ‘Just thinking about eagles.’

  He looked suspicious. ‘Eagles?’

  ‘Eagles. And the way they mate.’

  He stared at me. Blink, blink, blink. ‘I’m trying not –’ He stopped. Frowned. ‘Chloe.’ Stop. ‘I don’t want to misinterpret, but …’ Another stop, as he scrubbed a hand through his wet hair. ‘Okay, just tell me, what do you mean?’

  ‘I mean I’m interested in exploring that mating thing. The one where it’s done for life.’

  I waited for him to grab me and kiss me. Instead he headed out of the bathroom.

  I followed him, startled to find him getting dressed. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Back to my room.’

  ‘Wait, and I’ll come with you.’

  ‘No, Chloe. You stay here and think carefully about what you’re getting yourself into.’

  ‘Why don’t you just tell me what I’m getting into?’

  ‘I’m not a saint.’

  ‘Okay, well that’s a shock!’ Eye roll. ‘Not a saint. Got it.’

  Jeans being zipped up. ‘I’m not … nice. What I did to Ruby …? I’d do it again.’

  ‘To me? You’d do it to me?’

  ‘What? No! I’d do it to get you.’

  ‘Okay, in that case I can live with “not nice”.’

  T-shirt going over his head. ‘I’m not Marcus.’

  ‘Not Marcus. Tick.’

  ‘I mean it. I’m the jealous type. You kiss another man, and it will not be a case of “okay so we’ll break up but I love you and hope you have a nice time overseas with the motherfucker”. Got it?’

  ‘I … think so. Although I got the impression you didn’t think it was worth breaking up over a kiss.’

  ‘I won’t forgive you if you kiss another man, Chloe. I won’t. I mean it.’

  ‘Okay! Sheesh! No kissing other men. Vice versa applies too.’

  ‘You’re not getting it. Once you choose me, that’s it. I’ll go ballistic if you change your mind. I’ll never forgive you. Never.’

  ‘God, Nick, do you want me to choose you or not?’

  ‘I want you with your eyes wide open. So don’t get all caught up in “Oh. Nick’s so sweet, looking after orphans, feeding street kids” and all that bullshit. Just remember. I ditched that girl the night we met because I saw someone I wanted more. I would have ditched any and every girl you’ve ever seen me with, on the spot, if you’d crooked your finger at me. I’ve fucked a thousand girls before you and haven’t cared about any of them. I tried like hell to get you into bed behind your boyfriend’s back. I made your boss send you here just so I could get into your pants.’

  ‘I know all this. It’s getting boring.’

  ‘Chloe, open you goddamn ears. I was a street kid. I’ve sniffed glue. I’ve stolen, and fought and … and … What are you doing?’

  ‘Taking off my towel.’

  ‘Well put it back on, I’m not finished.’

  ‘Okay, towel going back on. But can you speed it up?’

  ‘I’m the animal you always said I was. I was a rotten kid. And I’m still rotten.’

  ‘Who says you were a rotten kid?’

  ‘I’m a Savage, not a Haynes, remember?’

  Oh God, that hurt. That … hurt. Enough to steal my breath for a moment. ‘Well that … that family, the one that didn’t take you? They’re stupid. And … and cruel. And just stupid. Splitting up two brothers. I can’t even – Can’t imagine. Horrible. Unfair. Inhuman.’

  ‘They were smart not to take me. I was a troublemaker. I can’t fault them.’

  ‘How old were you, Nick? How old?’

  ‘What does it –? Oh for God’s sake, six. I was six.’

  ‘A six year old is not a troublemaker,’ I said fiercely. ‘A six year old is a grieving little boy, that’s all.’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  Tears in my chest, my throat, clogging the back of my nose. ‘I do know, Nick, because I was a grieving little girl. And nobody wanted me, either.’

  One step towards me, then he stopped. ‘Are you saying …?’ He shook his head, as though trying to clear it. ‘No.’

  I said nothing. ‘No.’ he said again. ‘Tell me it’s not what I think.’

  ‘W–What is it you’re thinking?’ I asked, breathless.

  ‘You’re not adopted.’

  ‘No, I’m not adopted. I had a mother, but she didn’t want me. And neither did anyone else.’

  And wham, I was in his arms – it was as if I’d been teleported there, it was so fast. ‘I can’t believe … How could someone, anyone, everyone not want you?’

  ‘It was more like, how could they? I was angry, always angry. When I was first placed in foster care, I screamed all the time. And I was violent. I hit, and slapped and bit and I … I punched. Ha! Imagine that! And there were other things. Lots of things. I ate too much. Or I was too smart-mouthed. Too brainy. A show-off. I liked reading so I snuck the books – stole the books – from the other kids, which made me a thief. And then I was getting too old, and people preferred the little ones. Too old and too … too pretty. A temptation to sons, fathers, uncles, friends. Even though it was only a problem once. Just once.’ I shuddered, remembering that, and Nick tightened his arms. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Yes, it does. I want to kill them all.’

  I laughed softly. ‘Yeah, well, I wanted to do that, too. Instead. I started twisting myself inside out to be perfect, but it never worked. I couldn’t … fit. Nobody ever wanted to keep me. So, I guess what I’m saying is, I know what it’s like to not be chosen. I know what it’s like to be a street kid, too, Nick, so don’t think that scares me.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘After that one time, when one of the fathers tried it on, I bolted. I slept rough for a while, and that’s when I finally met a case worker who cared enough to get me on the path to a scholarship for university.’ I peeped up at him. ‘How did you think I knew Vodka Vern? Not that he recognises me these days, but I still give him money when I see him, because I know how wonderful it feels to have something to spend any way you want to. Free and clear. No questions asked. I was trying to be discreet, but you caught me.’

  ‘I was watching you like a hawk. Of course I caught you.’

  ‘And you said …’

  ‘I said he was just going to buy booze with it, and you asked me, very frostily, if I liked being told
what to do with my money.’

  ‘And you said no,’ I said, and tucked myself back into my spot, my cheek against his chest. ‘And then you one-upped me by giving him a fifty on his next go-by.’

  ‘Marcus never told me about … about …’

  ‘Marcus doesn’t know. Only three people know. Drew … Evie … you. That’s the way I want it. Because that’s not me anymore. Not … me. I won’t let it be me.’

  ‘Ah, Chloe,’ he said. My words, the words that were just for me. He kissed the top of my head. ‘The kids. Is it going to be hard for you, tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes, it’s going to be hard,’ I said around the lump in my throat.

  ‘I’ll be there.’

  I nodded, and he kissed the top of my head again. And that was all. The story was out, over with, moving on. Easy, because he was one of my kind and he just knew.

  I turned my head so I could kiss his chest. ‘Thank you, Nick,’ I whispered.

  ‘Hey, you can kiss any part of me you want. Higher … lower.’

  I choked on a laugh. ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘Yeah, I know.’ Silence, as he just held me, stroking his hand up and down my back. And then, tentatively, ‘So … what happens next?’

  ‘We go public.’

  Tiny pause. ‘What do you have in mind?’

  ‘Hmm, something I saw on Gaz’s boat, that evening on the harbour.’

  ‘You’re not talking about the ménage à trois, are you?’

  ‘What?’ I spluttered, and thumped him on the shoulder. ‘No!’

  ‘Good, because I’m not into sharing.’

  ‘You were that night!’

  ‘Not sharing you,’ he clarified.

  I sighed, liking the sound of that.

  ‘So …?’ he prompted. ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Oh, well I’m embarrassed to say it now, it’s so tame by your standards.’

  ‘Hey, I can be tamed!’

  ‘Like hell. But all right, if you insist. I’m going to squeeze your butt.’ And then, ‘Hey!’ as he grabbed my backside. ‘I said I was going to squeeze yours!’

  ‘Squeeze it now.’

  ‘No, that’s not public, I’m going to do it tomorrow night, when we’re out for those celebratory drinks Bryce has organised.’

  Nick laughed, and started backing me towards the bed, peeling off the towel on the way. ‘Come on, you can do a practice run, can’t you?’

  ‘But the sheets. I should put them back on the bed first.’

  ‘Fuck the sheets,’ Nick said, and pushed me onto the bed. He dropped to his knees, tugged me towards him so my backside was on the edge, and nudged my legs open.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I asked. Stupidly, because it was obvious!

  ‘Kissing you,’ he said, and put his mouth on me.

  And as my eyes rolled back I my head, I thought, Fuuuuuck the sheets.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  The next morning, I was woken with a deep, luscious kiss.

  ‘What?’ I asked drowsily.

  ‘You said you wanted me to see your underwear, so get up and let me watch you put some on.’

  ‘Ugh.’ That was me – pulling a pillow over my head, because I was basically worn out. Orgasmed to the edge of death.

  Laughing, Nick dragged the pillow off my face, kissed me again, and wrenched me up. ‘And I’m in the mood to have my butt squeezed in front of everyone, so I thought we’d renegotiate the timing.’

  ‘To when.’

  ‘The lobby, before we hit the road.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then how about once we’re in the minivan?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘How about at the playground?’

  I started laughing, ‘No, no, no, you desperado!’

  ‘Dammit.’ Grin. ‘Well, in that case, can you squeeze it now to tide me over?’

  I was still laughing. ‘Okay, turn around, bend over.’

  But he didn’t turn around. Instead, he clutched me close and kissed me. ‘No regrets, right?’

  ‘Didn’t we settle this?’

  ‘Yeah, but I …’ He trailed off, and tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear.

  ‘You …?’ Frown. ‘You what, Nick?’

  Little frozen moment, and then he smiled. ‘You know, I think I’ll check out your underwear next time. For now, come on, shower time. I’m not getting in without you.’

  I groaned, flopped back on the bed and drew the pillow over my face again.

  ‘Come on, Chloe. Butt squeezing ahoy. Don’t make me hurt you.’

  ‘Yeah, as if you could,’ I said.

  But I had a sudden, horrible premonition that he would.

  And you know what? Being psychic is not all it’s cracked up to be.

  When we disembarked at the Sunshine Children’s Home, Nick turned, stuck out his backside and gave it a pat, and I started laughing again.

  Not that it got his butt squeezed for him, but at least Nick’s incorrigibility got me smiling – a much better facial expression than a rictus of terror, which was my other option for the day, given the interviews with the children were hanging over my head.

  I managed to keep smiling when I collared Joan to discuss which children would be best for the camera. I kept it together as we whittled twenty-six down to five. But I slipped up at the end, when Joan suggested adding one more to the list: Honey.

  ‘Honey?’ Me – instant alarm.

  ‘Yes. Why not? I’ve already cleared it.’

  ‘Cleared it with whom?’

  ‘Her new parents,’ she said.

  ‘Oh.’ It was like being doused with ice water. ‘I didn’t know about the … the …’

  ‘Adoption? The news came through overnight. She’ll be off to America next week.’

  ‘That’s … brilliant.’

  ‘Yes, we’re all very happy.’

  But my hands were clenching in my lap, and that shock of icy water was spreading through my veins. But I want her. The thought was there, as though it had formed itself. I want her. I do. Mine. Hands unclenching, clenching, unclenching, clenching.

  ‘Chloe, are you all right?’ Joan asked, concerned.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, and forced my lips to stretch wider, just in case I’d stopped smiling. But had I stopped? I didn’t know. I might be looking like a demented clown, stretching that smile unnecessarily.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, and added a laugh. Happy, happy, happy laugh. ‘Yes. So … um …’ Breathe, breathe, dammit breathe. ‘Let’s … Let’s rearrange things.’ Racking my brain, needing to find a way to avoid a close encounter. Group activity. Group, group, group. Racking, racking, racking. ‘I know, let’s get all the kids down at the playground. We’ll … paint. Yes. All those tyres need to be painted and kids like painting, right? Bright colours. Good for the camera. Fun. Kids like fun, don’t they? Yes, I’m sure that will work. But I – I need – I need –’

  ‘Chloe?’ She was starting to worry, I could hear it.

  ‘Clothes. I need to change.’ I smiled again and it felt like my face was cracking. ‘I’m going to go back to the hotel and get changed.’ Getting out of my chair. ‘And then I’ll be back. I’ll be … back.’ Laugh. Laugh. Yep, I was heading for a straitjacket and couldn’t seem to help it. ‘Like Arnold Schwarzenegger.’ Getting my things together. ‘You know. Arnie. The Terminator.’

  ‘Okaaaay,’ Joan said – and that struck me as so funny, I started to laugh harder.

  I was still laughing as I left Joan’s office. And then somehow I was on the verandah, looking out at the lush garden, at this place that was full of life and colour and hope, and I stopped laughing.

  Because I was not full of those things. I was full of anger and bitterness. I was selfish, and desperate, and stupid. Grieving because a little girl I hadn’t even let myself touch, a little girl I’d been trying to ignore, would never be mine.

  I felt my eyes start to sting and blinked furiously. I would not cry.
Crying never helped. I knew that. I’d learned that. And this wasn’t a time for tears. Honey had a new life waiting for her. Someone wanted Honey to be their family. She deserved that. Every child deserved that. To be wanted. To find a home. I knew what it was like to want exactly that. It wasn’t Honey’s fault I’d never found it; it was my fault. Because I wasn’t sweet and charming and adorable. I was just … me. Hurt and angry and mistrustful. The girl nobody ever wanted for long.

  I could see Nick coming towards me, running at me, and knew in some dim recess of my fractured mind that Joan must have called him. He was going to see how imperfect I was. So consumed with grief for myself, I couldn’t be happy that one gorgeous, innocent little girl was going to have the wonderful life I’d never had. Would he want me, when he saw me like this?

  I tried hard to pull it together, but before I could even square my shoulders, he was there, pounding up the stairs, reaching for me, pulling me against his chest. ‘I’m here,’ he said.

  And I burst into tears. Not pretty, delicate tears. This was like a roar, a rush, through the floodgates. I couldn’t stop them, all I could do was hang on and sob as Nick rocked me, soothed me. A minute, an hour, forever later, it started to pass, but I was shaking, my head aching, my heart bruised.

  ‘Are we going to talk about it?’ Nick asked at last.

  ‘I don’t have the right clothes on,’ I said – as though that fact were a three act tragedy! – and started crying again.

  ‘Okay,’ he said – like a normal person would, one who didn’t think you were losing your marbles. No okaaaays here. ‘What clothes do you need, and we’ll get them.’

  ‘Jeans. I need jeans,’ I said, still crying. ‘And a shirt. And … and sneakers. Because we’re going to paint. With the ch–children. We’re going to p–paint.’

  ‘Right, so the minivan will take you – us – back to the hotel so you can get changed.’

  ‘No, not you. You need to finish the work. We need to finish so I can go. Because I can’t bear it, Nick. I can’t take it. Not for one more minute. Not when she – Oh Nick, she’s being adopted.’

  ‘I know, sweetheart.’